You slowly feel your body gaining consciousness and your eyes flicker open.

You stare into the dark at the ceiling, motionless.

Your limbs feel lifeless.

You feel as if you have no control over your body whatsoever.

You feel scared.

Irrational thoughts run through your mind.

What if…

They don’t take me seriously.

I mess up and lose the respect of my superiors.

I’m late.

I say the wrong thing.

I stare blankly into space and forget everything that is said to me.

What if I just can’t seem to find words at all?

The minutes go by faster and faster.

You are running out of time to waste.

You are going to be late.

Your irrational thoughts seem to become your reality.

But still, your arms and legs feel as if they’re filled with sand.

As the clock ticks on and on, you remain curled up in your cocoon of a blanket.

Finally, you muster every last cell in your body and roll yourself out of bed.

Your eyelids are heavy and puffy.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you hate what you see.

You hate what you see, so what’s the point in even trying to look good?

Brushing your teeth as slowly as possible, you consider calling in sick.

What’s the use?

The symptoms of your mental illness will never be considered “real.”

They might tell you to suck it up.

Your professor may give you a zero for attendance.

Your boss may fire you.

All of them may lose respect for you.

They’ll see you as a “baby.”

They’ll say, “just get it together.”

“The world doesn’t stop for you.”

As quickly as that consideration came, it’s gone.

These symptoms aren’t “real,” you tell yourself.

You can’t see them.

They’re not real.

So you put on an outfit that you can tolerate for the next nine hours.

You avoid looking yourself in the mirror.

All that you can see is weakness.

You slide into class a few minutes late.

You stare at the wall with a blank mind.

When the lecture is over, you recall nothing.

You walk across campus, as crowds of blurred people walk past you.

Your conversations are minimal.

You fake a smile and a laugh to just get through.

You show up to work.

That, in itself, feels like a major accomplishment.

When you are called out for your mental absence, you apologize.

You apologize for being stupid.

Or for being distracted.

Or for just being you.

Because clearly there is something wrong with you.

Everyone can see it.

Or maybe they can’t.

Maybe they just think you’re an odd person.

You’re “shy,” or “distant,” or “awkward.”

You finally get home and force food down your throat.

You crawl into your bed, close your eyes tight, and hope that everything will disappear.

Nothing seems to interest you.

You wonder why this is happening to you and nobody else.

But you can’t seem to do anything about it.

Because it’s hard to care.

You go to bed early, but lay awake for hours with a restless mind.

You can’t seem to shut your brain off.

Suddenly, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning.

Eventually, you drift into a deep, deep sleep.

And then you wake up again with heavy limbs, and have to do it all again.

But somewhere, in an alternate universe…

You slowly feel your body gaining consciousness and your eyes flicker open.

You stare into the dark at the ceiling, motionless.

Your limbs feel lifeless.

You feel as if you have no control over your body whatsoever.

You feel scared.

Irrational thoughts run through your mind.

What if…

They don’t take me seriously.

I mess up and lose the respect of my superiors.

I’m late.

I say the wrong thing.

I stare blankly into space and forget everything that is said to me.

What if I just can’t seem to find words at all?

Then, you remind yourself that these thoughts are irrational.

It’s one of those days.

And you know that it’s going to be okay.

You have a mental illness.

Just like a lot of other people in the world.

And people can relate to you, because you’re honest about how you feel.

When you finally muster the energy to get out of bed, you will call your boss.

Or email your professor.

You will be straightforward.

“My anxiety is getting the best of me today.”

“It is extremely hard to get out of bed.”

“Today, I do not feel well.”

And all of these symptoms and feelings are valid.

And real.

Even though you can’t see them.

It doesn’t have to be a secret that you need a mental health day.

Because mental health is just as real as physical health.

Your boss tells you to take your time and feel better.

Your professors says that’s quite alright, just bring the assignment next time.

And you’re not ashamed.

You’re actually quite proud.

You spend the day taking care of yourself.

You do the things that you know are important for your well-being.

You spend some time alone.

Maybe you exercise or meditate.

You reflect on what exactly it is that you’re feeling.

After you’ve taken care of yourself, you are ready to tackle everything else.

You are able to be more productive in class.

You can connect better with others and hold genuine conversations.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you’re proud of what you see.

Because you’re not afraid.

Because people understand.

Because it is okay to be honest about your mental illness.

What if we lived in a world where the second story was a reality? What if mental health was considered just as a valid as physical health? But then again, why don't we?